Taken by the Russian

by Alexa Riley

  I feel her low hum deep in my stomach. “I don’t like that answer.”

  “You are only satisfied with full explanations.”

  “That’s because I’m a normal.”

  Again, I suppress a smile. “You don’t find me normal, angel?”

  She tilts her head and peruses me with lively green eyes. “Definitely not.” Her jiggling right leg tells me this line of questioning is far from over. When it finally stills, I glance over to find her cheeks pink. “Sasha, you…touched me.”

  At the reminder of her taut ass fitting perfectly in my hand, the teeth of my zipper bite into my swelling cock. “I’ve touched you many times. Do you not recall what happens when there’s a thunderstorm and you crawl into bed with me?”

  A puff of air leaves her lips. “You’re just so w - warm.”

  Memories of Anya tucked tight against me, her hands dangerously low on my belly, make my fingers tighten on the steering wheel. That long red T - shirt she calls pajamas is so threadbare I could feel her nipples rake my sides every time she breathed. Oh yes, she’s tried to play games with me many, many times. I’ve cursed my refusal to break vows on more occasions than I can remember, but I’m a man of my word. I can only hope she will appreciate this about me one day. Tomorrow would be nice. “I’m glad my temperature pleases you, Anya.”

  I can hear her quickened breathing across the car. “Brushing my neck accidentally with your fingers when tying my bathing suit or…rubbing my back when I’m sick…that’s not the way you touched me in the driveway. That was different,” she finishes in a whisper. “Did you like it?”

  Heat kicks me low in the gut. Years of forcing myself to treat this girl like a niece has taken its toll. How can I resist talking to her about sex? About the off - limits body she’s been tempting me with since I was hired by her father? When I finally answer her question, my voice is nothing more than gravel. “You’re asking me if I enjoyed having your smooth little cheek in my hand, knowing there’s a tan line that slashes diagonally, right across the center?” A rumble of hunger moves in my chest. “There’s a reason I never remove my overcoat while you’re swimming in that green mind-fuck of a bathing suit, angel. My cock is so stiff, you could use it as a second diving board.”

  Her knees shoot together, and I barely check the urge to reach over and pry them apart. To see if my confession made her panties wet. Don’t do it. If I see any evidence that her virgin cunt is prepared for me, I’ll pull over and breed her on the hood of this car. “B - but you…” she sputters. “You’re the one who bought the green bathing suit for me.”

  “I assure you, Anya, that bathing suit was all for Uncle Sasha.”

  Anya

  Is this real life?

  Sheltered or not, I’m usually capable of assessing a situation pretty fast. Reading people. Solving dilemmas. But I can’t make sense of this. Sasha, the man I’ve been having illicit fantasies about for years, has been having them about me, too?

  No way. I don’t believe it. All those times I snuck into his bedroom because I was “scared of the thunder” (I wasn’t), he refused to take any of the openings I gave him. I mean, call me crazy, but when a half - naked girl combs her fingers through a man’s chest hair and purrs like a kitten, that’s a sure - fire sign she’s interested in more. But he’d only lain there like a stone statue, grunting at me in Russian to stop interrupting his sleep.

  All this time, has he wanted to push me down into the mattress and…

  I can’t even bring myself to think the word, because I’m already slick. Right where it counts. And he keeps frowning at my squeezed - together legs, as if he knows it.

  “I don’t believe you. About wanting me.”

  His jaw muscle flexes. Hard. He’s angry now? “Don’t believe me?”

  “Nope. Why now? Why would you wait to tell me this until you’re…” I fling a hand toward the passing scenery, “essentially driving me out of your life?”

  He bares his teeth. “I’m not leaving you. We’ve spoken of this.”

  Hearing that, knowing he didn’t just mean it in some symbolic way, my heart lifts with relief. As much as I want my freedom, the one thing — person — I never want to be away from is Sasha. He’s the one who brings home a cake and candles to celebrate my birthday when my father forgets. He’s the one who fusses and threatens the doctors when I’m sick. My friend, the only man who’s ever made my lady parts clench…my uncle who isn’t really an uncle. Sasha.

  But it’s difficult to reconcile the man I’ve grown up with and this new, sexually charged Adonis…who claims to want me. Bad. Even after walking in on him touching himself in the shower, our relationship didn’t change. Not on his end, anyway. I was walking into walls for two months, the hot vision of his big hand stroking up and down his shaft painted on my corneas.

  “I need an explanation, Sasha. Or I’ll…” I search the car for some threat inspiration, my gaze landing on the granola bar sticking out of my purse. “I won’t eat until I get the truth.”

  If possible, his powerful frame grows even stiffer. “Your lunch time is in seventeen minutes, Anya. You will not be missing it.”

  Propping my hand on a bent wrist, I flutter my eyelashes at him. “Then I guess you should start talking.”

  He grunts, looking at me with grudging approval. “You are a very challenging creature.” His fingers tap on the steering wheel. “Very well. I will appease some of this curiosity.”

  My smile seems to distract him. “Thank you.”

  A curt nod. “Try and maintain that grateful attitude.” His cheek flexes for long moments as he stares out at the road ahead. “Do you remember when I came to live with you?”

  “Of course.” I turn and lay the side of my face on the leather seat. “It was the week after my mother’s funeral. My father was so paranoid, he wouldn’t let me leave the house, and I thought I’d be a prisoner forever, but…he trusted you to protect me. Before you even unpacked, you took me out for ice cream.”

  “Yes.” His expression warms, before the stoicism returns and chases it away. “This trust your father had in me is very important, Anya. It didn’t come for free. Do you understand? Not for him or me.” He pauses. “My mother and sister needed a home in Chicago, and your father had the connections I didn’t, being so new to this country.”

  I nod, because I knew this much already. Sasha’s family is private and they don’t come to the house very often, unless there’s some news that must be delivered in person. But I always know when it’s someone’s birthday because he asks my opinion when ordering flowers or a gift online. “I’m glad he helped your family. It brought me you.”

  My face goes up in flames as soon as the words leave my mouth. Normally, I wouldn’t hesitate to let Sasha know I appreciate him. But that was before he touched me. Before he admitted to admiring my near - naked body with looks I used to believe were platonic. Now I worry saying how much I need him out loud might make me sound too desperate. Aren’t I, though? God, I can barely sit still on the seat, I want to be in his lap so bad.

  “Anya.”

  “Yes,” I breathe.

  “You will continue as you always have. You will not stop telling me your thoughts.” He rolls a shoulder. “I like them very much.”

  My heart is pounding in my ears when I say, “Tell me the rest.”

  His eyebrows lift at being given a command, but thankfully he doesn’t pull the plug on our conversation. “I gave him five years of loyal service in exchange for his help with my family. When I came to Chicago, I assumed I would be running…a very different kind of operation for your father. But when he mentioned hiring you a different bodyguard, I protested.”

  I catch a laugh in my throat, just imagining what that protest from Sasha looked and sounded like. Sort of like the human equivalent of a volcanic eruption.

  “This amuses you, angel?” The car picks up speed. “Men are not to be trusted.”

  “Only you.”

  “That’s right. Onl
y me.” He slants a look in my direction, those cool gray eyes roaming over my legs and breasts, his humongous arms seeming to expand and flex inside his coat. “I gave him five years. During those five years, I vowed to keep you innocent. Of all men, yes. But when I made this promise to your father, it was clear that it pertained to me. So long as this five - year contract was in effect, you were forbidden.”

  Five years.

  My mind flips like pages in a calendar, thinking back to the day Sasha arrived. Fall. It was fall. I remember because the first time I saw him, I was sitting on the front steps of my house, head resting in my lap, wishing I could go ride my bike at the pier with my friends. Never again, though. My father, lost in his grief, had barred me from leaving. Sasha’s black boots appeared first, crunching on the autumn leaves that had fallen from the tree. He crouched down and forced me to meet his eyes. Eyes that reminded me of thawing ice. Angel, he’d rasped.

  “And…” My mouth is dry, so I make myself swallow. “And when does the contract expire?”

  His big chest lifts and shudders back down. “Tonight.”

  Chapter Three

  Sasha

  It’s time for Anya’s lunch.

  When she doesn’t eat, everything I say is the wrong thing. So we don’t miss meals.

  She has been quiet since I informed her my shackles come off tonight. Quiet and…restless. I take a book from the glove compartment and drop it in her lap, but she starts to read it upside down, so I stow it away again. Her fingers pluck at the hem of her skirt, her feet perform an awkward dance routine, and she keeps changing the radio stations, never settling.

  I have an urge to park the car and pull her across the seat, into my lap. It’s what she needs. A good, hard ride on her man’s cock. Even if she doesn’t realize it yet.

  Soon.

  There are some things we must speak about, before I take her body. But even I am not stupid enough to inform Anya of her future when she has an empty stomach. She might have been born in Chicago, but she has a fiery Russian temper. In the future, I have no doubt I’ll fuck her mid - tantrum — frequently — but I want her first time to be…

  Romantic.

  My lip curls at such a feminine notion. Only Anya could make a cold - blooded killer consider things like candles and high thread count sheets. I never imagined myself as a husband. And I never would have, if I hadn’t met the angel. Now I can think of nothing but making every second of her life happy. Providing and protecting what God has given me. Perhaps Anya and I have different notions about what she requires to be content, but she will come around to my way of thinking. There is no other choice.

  A hint of unease creeps into my chest, but I banish it.

  I’ve already mapped the restaurant where I plan to feed Anya, and we approach the freeway exit right on time. The gourmet sandwich shop is not the main attraction in the tiny town, though. And when we park along the main street, she sees it and gasps.

  “A library? Oh my God, it’s huge.” She fumbles with the door handle, unable to take her eyes off the gothic building. “Sasha, did you know?”

  I don’t bother answering, because she should know by now, I do nothing by accident. Instead, I climb out of the driver’s side and round the bumper, scanning the street for threats as I take Anya’s hand, pulling her onto the sidewalk. She sways into me, but this time I don’t step back right away. I let her front mold to mine, her lips popping open at the feel of my jutting cock. I want to back her against the car, thrust my erection up between her thighs and introduce her to the only cock she’ll ever know, damn the potential witnesses. But as always, when I take her out in public, heads begin turning almost immediately. In Anya’s direction. There is a breeze blowing against the hem of her skirt, the white material teasing the underside of her tempting ass. That same breeze stiffens her nipples and makes her shiver, skyrocketing my protective instincts. Grinding my teeth together, I reach into the backseat and wrap her in the denim jacket she brought along.

  She presses her lips together, those green eyes knowing. Does she enjoy my jealousy? I wonder if she still would if she knew how deep it runs. “Thank you for the library,” she whispers. “Can we go?”

  “Da, angel.” I take her hand and lead her to the restaurant. “After you eat.”

  “I’m not even hungry.”

  She consumes every bite. I eat much faster, so I lean back in my chair and enjoy the sight of her mouth moving, the little pleased noises she makes. Just like on the street, every male in the place cranes their neck to get an eyeful of what’s mine. Until I let them know with my eyes that I will strangle them with piano wire in their sleep if they don’t fuck off. By the time Anya finishes, we’re the only ones left in the restaurant, which pleases me very much.

  On the walk to the library, Anya takes my hand and smiles up at me. “I guess I should enjoy the good meals while they last. It’s going to be crappy campus food from here on out.”

  Again, there’s an uncomfortable pang below my neck, much like guilt. “Only one hour in the library, Anya. I want to stay on schedule.”

  She glances up at the giant clock on top of the library. “Freshman orientation isn’t until tomorrow night. We have until then to move me into the dorm.” She sends me a saucy wink. “No sweat, right?”

  No sweat? Moving her into a place full of strangers with bad judgment and a horny man - child trying to get laid around every corner? This is what she considers no sweat? There is only one way for me to retain my sanity, and it doesn’t include leaving her to sleep in a place where I cannot guard her.

  When I don’t answer, questions appear in Anya’s eyes, but I quickly usher her into the library. Her intake of breath distracts me from my dark thoughts, replacing them with appreciation over her reaction. There’s a beam of sunlight streaming in through a second - story stained - glass window, and it lands on the angel, making her glow even brighter. She presses her fingers to her lips and turns in a circle, taking in the sweeping marble staircases and endless rows of books on either side.

  I only have eyes for Anya, because surely there is no greater creation on this earth. The fates could not truly expect me to let her go. No. It would be impossible. I would go insane.

  I’m doing the right thing. The only thing.

  My voice is gruff when I find it. “The fiction section is downstairs. To your right.”

  Her lips tilt at the evidence that not only did I plan in advance to bring her here, but I did my research. For her. Everything for her. “I think I’ll take a look upstairs first.”

  When she climbs the marble staircase, her backside twitches right to left, turning my bloodstream into a river of fire. She casts a look back at me over her shoulder, and I know she’s up to something.

  But hell if I can do anything but follow.

  Anya

  Turnabout is fair play, right?

  Sasha has stroked my hormones like a harp player for the longest. I’ve lived for his grudging smiles and grunts of approval. I’ve woken up hot and sweaty because his lips accidentally grazed my earlobe during a hug, turning my dreams into graphic movies starring him. And me. It has not been easy living on the razor’s edge of something I don’t fully understand but am eager to learn about. And yes, maybe plotting to seduce him in a public library is a little impulsive. After all, he all but told me we’re going all the way tonight. Mere hours from now.

  A hot shiver passes through me as I turn down the darkened self - help aisle, Sasha’s boots thudding heavily on the marble behind me. I don’t want to wait for tonight. This attraction ran thick between the both of us, so I’m kind of pissed that he kept me at a distance while I was suffering. We both had needs — Sasha had no right to file it under his stubborn terms.

  Maybe the politician’s daughter is coming out to play, because I feel compelled to take back a little of the control he didn’t see fit to allow me. I’ve been handled by my handler, and I don’t appreciate knowing how much time we’ve wasted.

  Sasha th
ought I was playing games with him before? He ain’t seen nothing yet.

  I find what I’m looking for and stop, pointing to the top shelf. “Sasha?” He’s suddenly so huge beside me in the dim lighting, his tightly leashed control beginning to show signs of strain, it takes me a moment to continue. “Can you reach up and get me the big red one? The one with gold lettering on the spine?”

  He seems surprised by my request, but complies. And I have the satisfaction of watching one dark eyebrow hop toward his hairline when he reads the title. “The Kama Sutra, Anya?”

  I step between Sasha and the shelf and slowly unbutton his signature black overcoat. Listening to his breath accelerate, I run a finger down his chest and stomach, feeling pretty smug when he groans. “I thought I could use some pointers for tonight.” My index finger hooks in his waistband of his dress pants and tugs. “Don’t you want me to be…ready?”

  “I will put you in the positions that will bring you the most pleasure,” Sasha rasps, reaching over my head to slide the book back into its slot. “You will not need such pointers.”

  “Because you’re going to teach me.”

  Pinpricks of sweat appear on his brow. “This is so.”

  The ragged hunger in his tone sends warmth pooling between my legs, so I rub my thighs together to help tend the ache. But it doesn’t help. No, it only makes me desperate to be touched. If this plan backfires and I’m left hot to trot…without any actual trotting…I’m in for a world of hurt. “Can you give me a brief outline of the lesson plan now?”

  Sasha grips the shelves above my head, and they creak in protest. His face moves within an inch of mine, those gray eyes deepening to black. “You tempt me to madness on my final day in perdition, Anya?”

  “It didn’t have to be this way.” I shrug off my jean jacket and let it drop to the ground, arching my back to draw his attention to my breasts. “All those times in your bed, late at night. No one would — ”